


Leave Your Field to Flower

by emmagrant01



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-07-02
Updated: 2007-07-02
Packaged: 2017-10-29 23:46:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/325474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmagrant01/pseuds/emmagrant01
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco Malfoy is like all the other Survivors of the disaster -- except for one called Harry Potter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Leave Your Field to Flower

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Español available: [Deja que tu Campo Florezca](https://archiveofourown.org/works/89733) by [La traductora (PerlaNegra)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PerlaNegra/pseuds/La%20traductora)



> Written for Lusiology for the 2007 summer wave of hd_holidays. • The passages about witchcraft are taken directly from the Witchcraft entry at Wikipedia, accessed May 20, 2007. • The title comes from a line in the song "Magic to Do" from Pippin. If you are familiar with the musical at all, the title will make sense. ;-)
> 
> Originally posted [here](http://hd-holidays.livejournal.com/59219.html).

The window was dirty. Decades of grime clung to the corners of the panes, softly rounded in places from occasional half-hearted efforts to clean it off. It gave the scene outside an old-fashioned glaze, and it was easy to pretend to be looking out on a painting, an urban cityscape of sorts. Taxi cabs scuttled in and out of view on the street below, ferrying their passengers to destinations unknown -- and far more exciting, most likely. A homeless man was settling into a portico with his threadbare sleeping bag, carefully spreading newspapers around himself to ward off the chill. A pair of colorfully-dressed teenagers walked past and shot him a curious glance, but didn't slow their pace.

Draco Malfoy gripped a pencil between his fingers and squinted, drawing a circle in the air around the man's weathered face. He felt a compulsion to speak, but no words came to his tongue. He swallowed down his annoyance and kept the pencil point focused on the man's face.

"Draco, are you listening?"

He ignored Rosemary, focusing intently on the scene below. The man wasn't familiar, and neither was the setting, but he couldn't escape the feeling that he should _do_ something.

"Draco? It's almost time."

"I know," he replied, still not turning to look at her. If he just concentrated, maybe--

"You still haven't answered my question."

He turned toward her with a scowl. "We both know I've got no answer for that. Yet you persist in wasting my time and yours by asking over and over."

She smiled and kept her eyes on his. "You haven't been doing the exercises."

"They didn't work. And it was boring. I'm busy, you know. I don't have time for that shit."

Rosemary leaned back in her chair, her expression just as condescending as ever. "Sometimes I think you don't want to be here."

"Perceptive, aren't you?" Draco turned back to the window.

"I'm only trying to help you."

"And the government pays you nicely for it."

A laugh. "Not as nicely as you'd think, but yes. I suppose that means we're done for the day. Are you coming to group tomorrow night?"

"No," Draco retorted. But he would. He always did. He had nothing better to do.

  
**.:. .:. .:.**   


Draco frowned -- someone had moved the books on witchcraft and hadn't bothered to mention it to him. He had an idea of who that someone might be.

He found her sitting behind the information desk, glasses perched on the tip of her nose and her long frizzy hair twisted into a bun with a pencil sticking through it, holding it in place. The pencil was green and embossed with silver print, with a bright pink eraser at the end. He tilted his head to try to make out what it said, but only the letters KNO were visible. The rest of the word disappeared into her hair.

"Did you need something?"

His fixation on her pencil had made him forget what he was there to ask her. He pursed his lips and tried to concentrate.

Hermione smiled in a way that reminded him sharply of Rosemary. "You were over in Fantasy, weren't you?"

He looked away in an attempt to cover the flush creeping over his cheeks. "Someone moved the books on witchcraft out of my section."

Hermione sighed and swiveled her chair to face him. "I did. They don't belong in fiction, Draco."

"But they are fiction."

"Well, I suppose they are, in a manner of speaking, but they belong in the New Age section. That's where people expect to find them."

"And we must cater to the public's stupidity?"

Hermione gave him a sharp look and nodded to indicate a customer standing close by, perusing the self-help books. "It's my call, and that's where I want them."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Why did you give me that section to organize if you were just going to override any decisions I made about what to put there?"

"That's the only thing I moved."

"Today. And tomorrow it will be something else. I don't appreciate the fact that you check up on every little thing I do."

"That's my job."

"And what's mine?"

Hermione sighed. "Did you go to counseling today?"

"It's none of your business, is it?"

"You're always irate after counseling, and you take it out on me. Ergo, it's my business."

Draco scowled. "I don't want to talk about it with _you_."

"Fine." Hermione turned back to the computer screen before her and began pecking at the keyboard.

Draco watched her fingers move, marveling at the speed. He'd never learned to use a keyboard somehow, and had an irrational fear of computers. Which was why she'd been promoted to assistant manager and he hadn't, probably. They'd started at the bookshop at the same time, but she'd done much better.

"I thought you didn't want to talk about it," Hermione said, eyes focused on the screen before her.

Draco picked at a piece of old sellotape stuck to the laminate surface of the information counter. "It doesn't seem to bother you. The counseling, I mean."

Hermione pushed away from the keyboard and turned to look at him again. "Have you had a break yet?" When he shook his head, she nodded toward the in-house coffee shop. He followed her.

They sat at a corner table with their steaming cups, looking down over the small shopping street in the afternoon sun. Draco watched the cream slowly melt into his coffee confection, and said nothing until he realized she wasn't going to speak first. He looked up to see she was watching him, a patient expression on her face.

"It's different for you," he said at last. "You have your family."

She nodded. "You're probably right. I didn't lose my parents as you lost yours. I have a connection to the life I had before, even if…" She trailed off and paused for a moment before starting again. "I can't say I understand what it's been like for you and the others who lost their families. So I suppose that's made the counseling easier for me."

"And you like to talk."

She smiled. "So do you."

"But not like that. Not to Rosemary."

"Why not?"

Draco shrugged. "There's something about her that… I don't know. It's like I find her very existence annoying."

"Is it because she's a woman?"

"No. I don't find you annoying. Well, not constantly."

Hermione's smile softened. "Well, I'm like you, aren't I? I'm a Survivor, and she isn't. She doesn't understand."

Draco frowned. "Yes, but it's more than that. She just… I can't explain."

"You don't have to do. I'm not Rosemary, after all."

They sipped their drinks in silence for a few minutes, neither of them ready to go back to work. Draco struggled to think of something to say to break the silence.

"Want to do something later tonight?"

Hermione brightened. "I've a date."

Draco raised his cup to his lips and said nothing. He knew Hermione and Percy were serious, and it wasn't his place to interfere. He resented losing his friend, but it wasn't as if he were interested in taking Percy's place.

Hermione cast a glance toward the coffee counter. "Why don't you ask Alberto to do something tonight?"

Draco looked over to where a striking young man was wiping down the coffee machine. He grinned when he caught Draco's eye, and Draco looked away.

"Not interested."

"You hardly ever date, Draco. I worry about you."

"I'm not ready for anything like that."

Hermione leaned forward and grinned. "Just take him home and fuck him. It doesn't have to be anything more, you know."

Draco glared at her. "Will you lower your voice? Merlin!"

She raised an eyebrow at him, but kept grinning. "Merlin? You've been spending too much time in Fantasy. I should reassign you to Gay & Lesbian Interest."

Draco rolled his eyes. "I'm happy in Fantasy. I think I must have been some sort of geek before. The sort who knew what all those levels of dungeon master mean."

"Maybe you were." She pushed her chair back and stood, gathering up the rubbish on the table. "Are you going to group tomorrow night?"

Draco stared into his nearly-empty cup. "I haven't decided."

Hermione laughed. "Which means I'll see you there."

He watched her walk away, a bit baffled by her cheerfulness. He usually found cheerful people annoying, but this was a relatively recent development for her, so he supposed it was a good thing. For her, anyway.

  
**.:. .:. .:.**   


He stood in front of St. Mary's Clinic for a good five minutes before Neville showed up and clapped him on the shoulder.

"Have a good weekend?" Neville asked as he tugged Draco through the door.

"No," Draco replied.

"Me either."

They walked down the corridor in awkward silence. Draco had never felt very comfortable around Neville, and he'd never been sure why. Neville was not so different from him in many ways; he'd even lost his family as well.

They turned left at the end of the corridor and then right into a room ringed with folding chairs. There were about ten people milling about, all familiar faces, all Draco's age. All Survivors.

He made his way across the room to where a lanky red-head was laughing with another man. Draco smiled for what felt like the first time in days.

"Fred, Seamus. What's up?"

They turned to him and held out their hands in greeting. Draco had a feeling they'd all been great friends once, an inseparable trio. They'd probably been quite the pranksters at their school, giving the teachers all sorts of trouble.

"We were starting to think you weren't going to show up tonight," Seamus said.

"Almost didn't," Draco replied, rolling his eyes for effect. "I hate this shite."

"I've got five quid that says you'll finally spill your darkest secrets this fine evening," Fred said with a wink. "If you don't do it, you'll owe me a pint."

"I'll pay up right after," Draco replied, turning to look around the room. Nearly everyone was there -- Vince and Colin talking quietly across the circle, Luna staring into space and rubbing her ever-growing belly, Neville watching the movements of her hand with more than a little longing, Hermione and Percy giggling at each other.

"Ergh, look at my brother," Fred said. "Disgusting."

Draco snorted. "At least you don't have to listen to Hermione go on and on about how wonderful he is."

"I will, at this rate. They're -- Oi, who's that?"

They turned to see a young man standing in the doorway, looking as if he couldn't decide whether to come in or to leave. He seemed to be about their age, but Draco couldn't remember ever seeing him before. He was dressed all in black, which set off his pale, haunted face. Even his hair was black; it hung into his eyes and down to his shoulders in a way that suggested he simultaneously did and didn't care about his appearance. He wore thin-rimmed glasses, but his most striking feature was his bright green eyes, which were scanning the room suspiciously. The man's lips pressed into a thin line, and he looked like he wanted to be anywhere but there.

Draco's mouth had gone dry, and he found himself staring at the man, enraptured. He couldn't recall seeing him before, but he was sure he had, somehow. There was something familiar about the way he stood, the way his eyes seemed to pierce the air, the way he clenched his jaw.

"Is this your tongue, sir?" Seamus quipped, looking down at Draco's shoes. "Can I help you with that?"

Draco cringed. "Fuck off. I'm not."

"You were," Fred said, smirking. "Should I go and find out who he is? See if he'd fancy a quick shag in the corner before Rosemary gets here?"

"Will you shut it?" Draco spat, trying not to blush. He risked another glance at the doorway, and was horrified to see the man now staring at him, an intense expression on his face. "Look, now you've frightened him."

"I dunno," Seamus said. "He doesn't look the sort who's easily frightened."

Rosemary entered the room before Draco's friends could tease him any more. She put a hand on the new man's shoulder and steered him to a chair, then settled beside him. Everyone took this as a cue to take their seats.

It was silent for a moment. Rosemary looked around the circle as if mentally taking roll, and then smiled. "Before we get started, I'm sure you've all noticed we have a new addition to our group tonight. Does anyone recognize him?"

Draco looked around the room to see that everyone's faces were blank. Even Hermione was staring quizzically at the new arrival.

Rosemary turned to the man, who had slumped into his chair and was staring resolutely at the floor in front of his feet. "Why don't you introduce yourself?"

There was a long, awkward silence, during which the man neither moved nor made a sound. Draco had to bite his cheek to stop himself from smiling.

Rosemary's smile didn't falter as she looked around the group. "This is Harry, and he'll be joining us in our weekly meetings. He's also a Survivor. He'll talk to us when he's ready." She smiled and waited a moment more, as if Harry might change his mind. "Well then. Who has something to share tonight?"

There was silence for a few long seconds, and then Hermione raised her hand.

"You can simply speak out," Rosemary said, as she always did when Hermione raised her hand. "There's no need to ask permission."

Hermione's cheeks pinked a bit. "I was thinking… well, I should provide some context. Draco and I were talking yesterday"-- she shot him a quick apologetic glance --"and it occurred to me that there might be a difference between the ways those of us with families feel and those of us who were left alone."

"We've talked about that already," Neville said, a hint of annoyance in his usually timid voice. "What good would it do to bring it up again?"

Hermione seemed surprised that her suggestion was criticized so quickly. "Yes, we've talked about it here and there, but we haven't really compared the different ways we're dealing with everything. It might be helpful."

Rosemary nodded at that, but said nothing. She looked around the circle, waiting for someone else to speak up.

Fred made a snorting sound. "Different how? Like you go visit your Mum and Dad on Sundays while Percy and I sit about and wonder where ours might be buried?"

"I didn't mean that." Hermione sank down in her chair a bit.

"I think I understand," Percy said as he reached for her hand. "After it happened, I had no one. Fred and I didn't even remember being brothers, and we certainly had no one to turn to. There was just a big empty void in our lives, and no one to help fill it in."

"Ring around the rosey, pocket full of posies," Luna sang softly, hands still caressing her belly.

"Whereas I woke up with my parents there to tell me what had happened," Hermione said, resolutely ignoring Luna. "They explained about the explosion at school, and how almost everyone was killed."

"Did they explain why they weren't there?"

Everyone turned to stare at Vince, astonished that he'd spoken. Even Hermione, anxious as she was to have this conversation, seemed taken aback. "Sorry?"

Vince made a sound of disgust. "Why weren't your parents there the day of the explosion like mine were? You had a home to go back to, didn't you? You had two parents who could show you photos of your life and tell you who you were before that day wiped it all away, and so you had a hope of putting your life together again. Unlike the rest of us."

Hermione's forehead was furrowed, and she stared back at Vince. "That's exactly my point. And we're all thrown into this group therapy together simply because we all survived, regardless of the resources we've had to rebuild our lives. I just… I don't think it's right."

Draco had never spoken in these group sessions and only partly paid attention to the conversation on most nights, but that was the first sensible comment he'd heard in months. He waited to see who else would contribute, looking around the circle. His eyes stopped on Harry, who was staring at Draco with an intensity that was nearly palpable. Draco swallowed, but found he couldn't look away.

"She's right," a woman called Romilda said. "None of us remember anything about our lives before the disaster, and throwing us together in a room once a week to whinge about how we don't remember hasn't done a thing to change it. It was almost a year ago, and it's never coming back. The sooner we all accept that, the sooner we can get on with our lives."

"But I like coming here," Neville said, looking sheepish. "Other people don't understand what it's like to be a Survivor. It's a relief to be around people who do, even if it's just for a little while."

"Ashes, ashes, we all fall down," Luna sang. Everyone was quiet for a moment.

"We could meet at a pub every Thursday and accomplish the same thing," Seamus quipped, and everyone laughed.

"I encourage you to meet more often," Rosemary said, smiling in her usual condescending way. "But having this time to express your feelings is critical for all of you, whether you would like it to be or not. Draco?"

Draco tore his eyes away from Harry's stare and turned to look at her.

"Do you have anything to add?"

He slumped down in his chair and scowled. "No."

"Now, Draco, you really need to open up to--"

"I said _no_ ," Draco growled, and felt a familiar anger rise up in him. It happened before he could stop it -- the empty chair next to him began to shake. He closed his eyes and tried to ignore it. Rosemary would just dismiss it anyway, thinking he'd kicked the chair in frustration. But he hadn't.

Weird things happened when any of them got angry, but they never talked about that. Even now, everyone was staring at the floor, pretending they hadn't seen it. Draco opened his eyes and glared at Rosemary, daring her to say something. But she only smiled blankly at him for a moment before moving on to Luna.

Draco scowled and looked away. Harry was still staring at him, and Draco saw one corner of his lip twitch upwards, just slightly.

  
**.:. .:. .:.**   


The pub was busy for a Wednesday night, but they managed to find a corner table. Seamus and Fred headed to the bar to buy pints for everyone, and Neville sat awkwardly next to Draco.

"Did Harry look familiar to you?"

Draco shook his head. "Did he to you?"

"No, but…" Neville paused, his brow furrowing. "I mean, he did, but maybe it was only because I knew he should. But you two were staring at each other like you remembered each other. I thought maybe--"

"Ales all around!" Fred said, sloshing pints onto the table. "Seamus has the rest."

"Thank god," Draco said and took several large gulps from the nearest one. "I really needed that tonight."

"You still owe me one," Fred said, settling into the chair next to him. "I still think you should have asked Harry to come along tonight."

Draco shook his head. "He kind of freaked me out. He wouldn't stop staring at me."

"That was a two-way street from what I saw," Seamus said, arriving with two more pints. "I didn't know there were other Survivors still out there. Where did he come from?"

"The psych ward," Neville said, and everyone turned to stare at him. "No, really. I heard Rosemary talking about it with Dr. Stevens."

"He's been in hospital since the disaster?" Draco asked.

Neville took a swig from his pint and nodded. "Apparently they only just let him out a few weeks ago. He was a complete nutter. Thought he remembered everything that happened before the disaster, but it was all nonsense. They had to keep him drugged up for months, and even after that he wouldn't stop. I heard Rosemary say they thought it might do him some good to be around other Survivors for a while."

They were all quiet for a moment, and Draco imagined they were probably thinking the same thing: What did Harry remember?

"Oh, I almost forgot," Neville said, rummaging through the leather bag he carried everywhere. "I saw this in a shop and thought of you, Draco." He held out a small package full of pencils, each a different, vibrant color.

Collecting pencils had become a bit of an obsession, and everyone humored it. There was something about the way they felt in his hand that could calm him when he was upset. When he had a pencil in his hand, those strange things didn't happen. He had no idea why. "Thanks, Neville."

"You're so easily amused," Seamus said, shaking his head.

Draco grinned. "It's a cheap hobby, at least."

  
**.:. .:. .:.**   


It was late by the time Draco left the pub and walked back to the tiny efficiency he'd letted a few months ago. It was overrun by roaches and unsavory folk, but it was better than the halfway house he'd been in since getting out of hospital. He had his privacy, and it meant a lot to him. It had been uncomfortable living with other men, especially because he was the only Survivor who was gay. They didn't treat him differently because of it, but he was always conscious of making everyone else uncomfortable.

He wondered what it had been like at school. Had he been out, or had he kept it to himself? Did he have a boyfriend? Had his parents accepted him?

He didn't even know his parents' names, of course. The Survivors whose parents hadn't died seemed to have records, but the rest of them didn't. It was as if they had suddenly come into existence the day they woke up in hospital. Draco only knew his own name because he'd been found wearing a shirt with a small embroidered tag sewn in: "PROPERTY OF DRACO MALFOY". Some days he wondered if it had even been his shirt at all.

He stopped at the stoop and dug through his pockets for the key to the building's front door while keeping an eye out for the junkies who trolled this neighborhood looking for easy victims. They'd almost got all of his money once, until he'd somehow found himself on the other side of his building's door, with no idea how he'd got there.

"Draco."

Draco started and whirled around. It was Harry from group, and he seemed to have materialized out of thin air.

"Harry, isn't it? Hi." Draco took a step toward the door of the building, wondering if he could unlock the door with his hands behind his back, if Harry turned out to be dangerous.

"Sorry if I startled you. I've been waiting since group got out. I found out where you live from Luna."

"Luna knows where I live?"

Harry blinked. "Apparently. She was more than happy to tell me, at least."

They stared at each other for a moment.

"So what did you want?" Draco asked. "It's late. I have to work tomorrow."

"To talk. Can I come in?"

Draco wasn't about to invite a complete stranger into his flat, Survivor or no, but he had to admit he was curious. "There's a coffee shop around the corner that's open late."

They made their way there in silence, ordered coffee, and sat at a corner table. Harry stirred a packet of sugar into his coffee, frowning at it as he did, and said nothing for several minutes. When he finally looked up, the expression on his face was the same as the one he'd had at group earlier: intense and nearly hostile.

"Are we going to talk or just glower at each other?" Draco snapped. "I don't have all fucking night."

Harry's expression softened. "Sorry. Habit, I suppose. I just wanted to know if you remembered me."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Of course I don't remember you. None of us remember anything. That's why we're in this situation."

"I remember you," Harry said.

Draco rolled his eyes. "No you don't. That's impossible."

"Your name is Draco Malfoy. Your parents were Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, and you were their only child. You lived in a huge mansion with servants and portraits of your ancestors, and you were a right shit. Your father was a bastard, by the way."

Draco felt a wave of annoyance. "Why should I believe any of this? You're probably making it all up. I hear you're nutters anyway."

"You're gay," Harry said. "Your first kiss was with a boy called Blaise Zabini when we were in fifth year, and he told everyone. You denied it for a while, but it was obvious to everyone who knew you."

"Everyone knows I'm gay. That doesn't prove anything."

"You have a series of scars on your chest."

Draco felt himself pale. "How do you know that?"

"I'm the one who gave them to you. Almost killed you, too."

"Someone must've told you about my scars." Some of the hospital staff had seen his bare chest, though he'd kept it hidden as much as possible. "Besides, it doesn't make sense that you're the only one who remembers anything about the disaster. What makes you different from any of us?"

"Because I'm the one who caused it," Harry said, staring into his coffee. "It was my fault it happened, and I'm cursed to be the only one left who remembers what happened before, what we all were."

"Completely insane and with a martyr complex to boot. What do you mean, what we were?"

Harry looked up again, and seemed to be considering. Draco was curious as hell to hear what he supposedly remembered, whether it was crazy or not. He'd have a story to tell Fred and Seamus, at least.

"What happened in group tonight, with the chair -- does that happen to you often?"

Draco's eyes narrowed. "Does it happen to you?"

"Yes. Want to see?"

Draco nodded, and Harry looked around the empty café to make sure no one was watching. He held out his hand, palm up, and his coffee cup rose off the table and settled gently in his hand.

Draco blinked, sure he'd missed something there. "What was that, some kind of magic trick?"

Harry snorted. "Oh for Merlin's sake. Pick something else, and I'll show you again."

Draco pointed to the spoon next to his coffee cup, and Harry held out his hand. The spoon flew into it.

Draco frowned. "It's just a trick. It doesn't mean anything."

"Doesn't it?" Harry asked. He held out his hand, and where the spoon had been was a green pencil.

Draco took it and turned it over. Written in silver letters was "PROPERTY OF DRACO MALFOY". He stared at it, unsure what to say.

"We're wizards, Draco. You were born into an old wizarding family, and you went to Hogwarts School when you were eleven years old. We all did."

Draco shook his head and put the pencil down. "You're insane. There's no such thing as magic or wizards."

"Then what do you call this?" Harry asked, pointing down at the pencil. It began to spin on the table, slowly at first, then faster and faster until Draco worried it would draw attention. He snatched it off the table, and the feeling of his fingers wrapped around it sent a jolt of energy through him.

"How do you do that?" he asked, turning the pencil over in his hand.

"I just do. Just the same as you."

Draco shook his head. "I can't do that. I've… never done anything more than make things move on accident."

"When you were angry or upset, right?"

Draco stared back at him. He couldn't believe he was having this conversation.

"The cup," Harry said. "Imagine the cup in your hand. Concentrate."

Draco shot him an incredulous look, but Harry just waited. Draco rolled his eyes and held out his hand, and thought about the cup, imagining it flying through the air and into his palm. It would be kind of cool, if it weren't complete nonsense. His fingers tightened on the pencil.

And then he was holding the cup, as if he'd momentarily blacked out, picked it up, and then regained consciousness. He dropped it to the table in surprise.

"Oh god."

"Do you see?" Harry asked, a touch of excitement in his voice now. "You can still do it. We all can, if we remember."

"I don't want to remember anything! Magic or insanity or whatever, it got my parents killed, didn't it? It got everyone's parents killed. We're the only Survivors. What does it matter now?"

"Your father would turn over in his grave to hear you talk like that. He may have been a bastard, but he was proud of being a wizard. And so were you."

Draco shook his head. "You're mad, that's all. I'm leaving now." He pushed to his feet and headed to the door.

"Wait!" Harry was right behind him, and followed him down the street.

"I'm not listening to you any more," Draco spat, stalking down the pavement.

"I know you, Draco." Harry panted as he jogged to catch up. "I've known you for ten years. I can't believe you'd be satisfied living like a common Muggle."

"I'm _not_ a Muggle!" Draco growled, and then stopped and turned back to Harry. "What the fuck is a Muggle?"

"You prefer being around Survivors, don't you?" Harry said, taking him by the arm and pulling him closer. "You don't want to associate with anyone who isn't like you. You'd rather spend an evening with Neville Longbottom than go on a hot date with that cute boy in the coffee shop where you work."

Draco shook him off and took a step back. "What the fuck? Are you spying on me?"

"Yes," Harry said, sounding a bit desperate now. "For the last few days. You were the only one I thought might remember."

"Leave me alone," Draco spat, pushing past him and fumbling for his keys again. "I'll call the police."

He headed to his doorway, but Harry was right behind him.

"Please listen to me," Harry said, grabbing Draco's arm again. There was a weird wrenching sensation, and they were standing on the other side of the door, staring at each other.

"What did you do?" Draco asked, voice trembling.

"I didn't do it," Harry replied, his expression soft. "You did." He took a step backwards and ran a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry if I frightened you. It's just that I've been alone in this for almost a year now. No one believes me. No one else remembers. Can you imagine what that's like?"

Draco couldn't think of anything to say in response to that. He shook his head.

"I'll go now. I'll stop by the book shop tomorrow, in case you want to talk to me some more. Just think about it, please." He opened the door to the street and walked through it, leaving Draco standing alone in the entryway.

  
**.:. .:. .:.**   


_Practices and beliefs that have been termed "witchcraft" do not constitute a single identifiable religion, since they are found in a wide variety of cultures, both present and historical; however these beliefs do generally involve religious elements dealing with spirits or deities, the afterlife, magic and ritual. Witchcraft is generally characterised by its use of magic. Modern practices identified by their practitioners as "witchcraft" have arisen in the twentieth century, which may be broadly subsumed under the heading of Neopaganism. However, as forms of Neopaganism can be quite different and have very different origins, these representations can vary considerably despite the shared name._ 


Draco frowned at the page. None of this made sense, and none of it sounded remotely familiar. All of the books he'd found said much the same thing, focusing on history and traditional cultures. None of them said anything about whether or not witchcraft was real.

He flipped a few pages forward.

_Probably the most obvious characteristic of a witch was the ability to cast a spell, a "spell" being the word used to signify the means employed to accomplish a magical action. A spell could consist of a set of words, a formula or verse, or a ritual action, or any combination of these._ 


That morning he'd tried to levitate his coffee cup, fork, toast, and toothbrush, but he couldn't make them so much as wiggle. He had no idea why it had worked with the coffee cup the night before, what he'd done differently. It wasn't as if he'd said a spell or anything. Of course, he'd been with Harry then -- so perhaps Harry had been the one who'd done it, to trick Draco into thinking he could do magic too.

He shut the book and put it back on the shelf. This was insane. So Harry could move things with his mind. It probably wasn't such an uncommon skill. It didn't make him a wizard, or anything so silly as that.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets and found in one the pencil Harry had given him the night before. He pulled it out and stared at it for a moment, and then it levitated out of his hand. He watched it float there, and wasn't sure what to think.

"Draco?"

He snatched the pencil out of the air and turned to see Harry standing behind him. He scowled to cover his surprise. "I didn't expect you so early."

Harry shrugged. "Don't let me interrupt. I just came by to see if you wanted to talk more."

Draco had spent a good deal of the previous night wondering what he'd say if Harry actually showed up again, trying to convince himself that he should just tell him to bugger off and forget all of this nonsense. But then he'd remembered how Harry had pulled him close in the heat of argument, and that had led to another line of thinking altogether.

He blushed and looked away. "I don't get off for a few hours."

"I can wait."

"You don't have to--"

"Draco, would you mind--" Hermione's head popped around the corner, but she stopped when she saw Harry. "Oh. Hello."

Harry turned to her and the expression on his face changed completely. "Hermione. How are you?" He looked as if he wanted to reach out and touch her, but didn't dare.

Hermione looked taken aback. "You know my name."

"Of course I do," Harry replied, but seemed to stop himself from saying more. He just smiled at her.

She turned back to Draco, raising one eyebrow. "Was I interrupting anything?"

Draco gave her an annoyed look. "No."

"I was just trying to talk Draco into having lunch with me," Harry said.

"I see," she said, and grinned at Draco. "It's a bit slow today, so why don't you take your lunch early?" Draco gave her a pained look, but she ignored it. "Take your time. I'll cover for you if you get back late."

"You don't have to do that," Draco said, but she waved and walked away, a definite swing in her step. Draco shook his head. "You do realize she thinks this is a date?"

Harry was staring at the spot where she'd disappeared. "I'm fine with that if you are. How is she, anyway?"

Draco shrugged. "Fine, I guess. Better than most of us. She has a boyfriend, you know." He watched Harry's face for a reaction, but Harry only smiled.

"I'm glad. She deserves to be happy. Ready to go then?"

They made their way down the street to a small café, and didn't speak again until they were seated with drinks in front of them.

"Were you two a couple?" Draco asked at last.

"Do you mean Hermione?" Harry laughed. "No. She was like a sister to me. She was a great friend." A veil seemed to fall over his face, and he stared down at the table.

"I imagine it must be difficult to be the only one to remember," Draco said, though he still thought what Harry 'remembered' was rubbish. They sat in silence for a moment more, and Draco began to wonder why Harry had wanted to ask him to lunch in the first place. "You said last night you thought I might remember too. Why?"

"Because you were there when it happened. You and I were the only ones there who survived, so I thought… well, it doesn't matter now."

"Will you stop talking in code? There _where_? What exactly happened?"

Harry sighed. "It's a long story, and I'm not sure you'll understand a lot of it."

"I'm not a complete dunce, you know."

"Not like that. You just don't have a context for most of what happened, and I'm not sure how to explain it so that it doesn't sound like complete rubbish."

Draco sat back in his chair. "Try me."

And so Harry began to talk. He told Draco about a world they both had lived in, one that was completely different from this one in almost every way. He told Draco about the school they'd gone to, about how they'd taken classes in casting spells, making potions, and working with exotic plants and animals. He talked about an evil wizard who had tried to control that world, and how Harry had been prophesized to be the one to defeat him. But there was a curse Harry hadn't known about until it was too late, one that erased the memories of all wizards who survived upon the death of the evil wizard -- all except Harry himself. And so that world was to be destroyed either way, and there was nothing Harry could do about it.

"So it was my doing, you see," he said, and paused as the server set their sandwiches on the table. "And I don't know if anything can be done to reverse it."

Draco took a bite of his sandwich, chewed for a moment, and swallowed. "You do realize all of this sounds completely mad, don't you?"

Harry smiled. "Yes, it does."

"I mean, it's an awfully convenient delusion. You're so stressed about the loss of your memory that you invent this incredibly detailed fanciful one, one in which you are the hero of the story, the good guy fighting the baddie. Oh, and the curse is perfect, because it explains why you're the only one who remembers."

Harry's smile faded a bit. "You don't believe me, do you?"

Draco paused to take a sip of his drink. "I'd _like_ to believe it, certainly. It sounds better than the official version, that there was a gas explosion at our boarding school during a family weekend, and most students and their parents were killed."

"And you believe that's really what happened?"

"Of course. There were witnesses who found us lying about unconscious, and the school was reduced to rubble."

Harry's eyes narrowed. "So why didn't any of the Survivors have burns from the explosion? All of them were perfectly fine except for suddenly having a massive case of amnesia."

"I suppose all of the ones who had burns died."

"That doesn't make sense. There would have to be a number of people who survived with injuries. And why did your parents die and not you? If it was a family weekend, wouldn't you have been with them?"

Draco scowled. "Did Rosemary put you up to this? She's always trying to get me to talk about this stuff."

"Don't be ridiculous." Harry started tearing his sandwich into small pieces. "The only reason they let me out of hospital was because I _stopped_ trying to tell them all of this. Why would they want me to go about telling the other Survivors?"

Draco picked at his food for a moment, his hunger long gone. There were holes in the official explanation of the disaster that had always bothered him, but he'd never thought very hard about it. He'd decided early on that the past didn't matter, that knowing the whole story wouldn't change anything. He sighed. "All right, fine. You said I was there when it happened. Was I helping you?"

"No. You weren't."

"Were we friends?"

Harry looked up at him. "No."

"Did we know each other at all?"

"Yes. We just… we never got on well and…" Harry pursed his lips. "We weren't fighting on the same side."

Draco felt a strange twisting in his belly. "You're saying I was working with the bad guy?" Harry nodded. "You can't expect me to believe this."

"I told you it would be hard to explain--"

"No, you've just told me this incredible story about how you triggered the disaster trying to save the world, and then you slip in the fact that I was one of the people you were trying to save it from. What do you expect me to do?"

"Help me set it right," Harry replied, his voice small.

Draco pushed his plate away and stood. "This is completely ridiculous! I won't waste any more of my time listening to this rubbish." He tossed a few pound coins on the table and left, pushing the door of the café open so hard the hinges groaned.

He looked over his shoulder several times on the way back to the book shop, but Harry didn't follow.

  
**.:. .:. .:.**   


"Draco, what are you looking at?"

Draco ignored Rosemary and kept staring out of the window at the homeless man who'd apparently decided to make the portico on the street below his home. His hair was shaggy and pale, and looked matted. Draco wondered why he didn't just shear the lot off. When he'd woken up in hospital Draco had hair down to his shoulders, and the first thing he'd done when released was to cut it off.

"Are you going to talk to me today?"

Draco shook his head. He hadn't said a word since coming in, and he had nothing to say to Rosemary or to anyone else. Whatever had happened in the past didn't matter now. It probably wasn't worth remembering anyway.

"Hermione said you'd spent a little time with Harry. She implied you two might be dating. Is that true?"

Draco frowned and looked out the window again. He hadn't seen Harry for days, and he didn't care to. Harry was delusional, and it did Draco no good to spend time with someone like that. Even if he was fairly good-looking.

Rosemary waited several minutes, and then sighed. "If you aren't going to cooperate, these meetings are pointless. You don't have to come if you don't want to."

Draco snorted. He hated this 'treatment programme' they'd all been enrolled in, but he couldn't walk away, for some reason. As much as he wanted to let go of the past and move on with his life, he couldn't seem to sever his connection to it.

"Then I suppose we're done for today," Rosemary said. She stood and walked to the door. "I hope to see you at group tomorrow evening."

Draco stayed and stared out the window for a few more minutes, watching the homeless man outside. He had nothing better to do.

  
**.:. .:. .:.**   


Harry showed up to group, but he carefully avoided making eye contact with anyone, including Draco. He didn't speak, nor did he respond when Rosemary spoke directly to him. Draco watched him the entire time, uncertain what to think. Harry was probably crazy, but he didn't seem like he was dangerous. Maybe there were even some kernels of truth in what he remembered.

Draco had spent a lot of time thinking about the fact that Harry remembered them as enemies back at school. He thought that must mean something, as did the fact that Harry had reached out to him. He didn't seem to have approached anyone else. Perhaps this was Harry's way of trying to make amends for not getting on with Draco in the past. It was the only thing that made sense.

And so Draco dredged up the courage to invite Harry to have drinks with him, Neville, Fred, and Seamus after group. He wasn't sure Harry would agree to come, but he did.

Harry was quiet as they all talked about what their days had been like in the last week, how much they all despised group (except for Neville, for whom it always seemed to be a highlight), and who they thought would win the cricket match on Saturday.

"I must not've been a sports fan before," Fred said in the middle of his third pint. "It took me ages to figure out what was happening."

"Really?" Seamus asked. "I could swear I remember watching it before. And Gran says I always loved it as a kid."

"I still don't get it," Neville said with a sigh. "I've tried."

"What, when you aren't mooning over Luna?" Fred said, poking him with an elbow. "When are you going to just ask her out?"

"She's half mad," Seamus added with a snort. "She'd probably say yes."

Neville shook his head, his cheeks flaming.

"You should, you know," Harry said. "You dated her before the… the disaster."

Everyone turned to stare at him.

"Are you serious?" Neville asked. His pink cheeks had paled considerably.

"Yes." There was resignation in Harry's voice, as if he wished he hadn't said anything but knew he couldn't stop now. "For a couple of years, actually. I'd even wager that baby is yours." He took several large sips from his pint, as if he didn't realize the impact of what he'd just said.

Neville was staring blankly into the space before him, and none of them knew what to say. He'd been miserably in love with Luna for as long as any of them could remember, even though she barely seemed to recognize reality. It was almost cruel to suggest there might have been something between them.

"He's mad, Neville," Draco said at last. "Don't believe a word he says."

Harry stared at his hands and said nothing.

Neville looked up. "But what if it's true? It would explain the way I feel about her, wouldn't it? She's completely off, and yet I can't help myself." They were all silent for several seconds, and then Neville drained his pint and stood. "I'm going to do it. I need to find her before my liquid courage dries up."

They all watched him leave, and then turned to stare at Harry.

"So you really remember?" Seamus asked.

Harry shrugged, still not looking up. "Some things. I'm not sure what's true and what isn't sometimes."

"Do you remember me?" Fred's expression was the most serious Draco could ever recall seeing.

Harry looked up at him and his face softened. "Yes, I do. You and all of your brothers and your sister and your parents. Your family was so good to me."

"I had… I had a sister? And more brothers than just Percy?"

Harry smiled. "Yeah. You did."

And then Seamus and Fred began to pelt Harry with questions, so quickly he barely had time to answer them all. He didn't talk about magic or wizards or anything beyond the ordinary -- just things that made sense, things that really seemed like they could have been real. Draco found himself wanting to ask questions too, but he didn't. He just listened, and watched.

Harry's face brightened as he talked, and he was grinning as he described Fred's twin brother and all the mischief they'd got into, his mum's cooking, his dad's collection of old junk, and a brother called Ron who'd been Harry's best friend. He told Seamus how they'd lived in the same dormitory through their school years with Neville and Ron and a boy called Dean Thomas, who'd been Seamus's best friend. He started to tell stories about their school days and playing a sport that he said was something like football on weekends. Fred and Seamus soaked it all up with wide eyes and big smiles, looking as if they believed every word of it.

And then Draco realized no one had mentioned _him_. Harry had talked about what great friends they'd all been and the antics they'd got up to together, but it was clear that Draco wasn't a part of it. He'd spent these last few months constructing fantasies in his head about what his life had been like and who his friends had been, but according to Harry, it hadn't been that way at all. And maybe it wasn't. For all Draco knew, he'd been some sort of pathetic loner, spending his free time doodling in the margins of his textbooks and wishing he had friends.

He began to sulk, but no one seemed to notice. They were all too busy reminiscing about things they didn't even remember.

"It's getting late," he snapped at last, and they all turned to look at him, surprised. "I have to get up early. See you next week."

They waved him off and he sulked all the way home. He'd felt lonely before, but he'd never felt like this -- like an outcast from the only family he'd ever known. If he didn't have this group, he had nothing left. There was no reason for him to stay here. But where else could he go?

He unlocked the door to his building and stepped into the dark entryway, shivering. He was halfway to the stairs when he noticed someone was standing against the wall.

"Harry," he said, feeling panic and relief at the same time. "How did you get in here?"

"How do you think?"

Draco's eyes narrowed. He was getting a bit tired of all this magic rubbish, and he'd just as soon forget the whole thing. "What are you doing here?"

Harry pushed off the wall and crossed to him. "I wanted to talk to you again, but you left."

"That's interesting, because you were doing a fine job of ignoring me back there."

"What was I supposed to say? That you and I got into fistfights at school? That we despised each other so much we could barely be in the same room without hexing each other? That you helped the very wizard who wanted to kill us all?"

"Yes, all of that," Draco snapped. "Why didn't you? Then they would have realized how insane you really are instead of hanging on your every fucking word."

"I'm sorry I've shattered your illusions about your past, but it's what happened. If you're going to help me fix it, you'll need to know all of it."

Draco folded his arms over his chest. "Even if I did believe you, why should I help you? Why not ask one of the others, one of your _friends_?"

"Because they don't… Look, what have you got to lose? If I'm wrong, no harm done. You'll just have had an adventure with a crazy person. But if I'm right--"

"I'll be the sidekick of an evil world-destroying wizard again? No thanks."

"You weren't his sidekick. You were just one of many who thought he was doing the right thing. And I think you did it to spite me, at least a bit."

"My little universe of evil revolved around you, did it?"

Harry sighed. "I don't know, to be honest. But you spent quite a lot of energy trying to get my attention. I always thought…" He trailed off and looked away.

"Thought what?" Draco said, and then it clicked. "Ah. I see. And did you… want my attention too?"

Harry shrugged. "At times. When I wasn't trying to convince myself I was straight."

"And now?"

"I wouldn't want you to think I'm just here to get into your trousers. Because it's not about that."

Draco felt a tingle in his gut, something he hadn't felt in a long time. "I suppose you could've told me we were a couple in school if that was all you wanted."

"And have you find out some day that it was all a lie and hate me even more?"

"Oh, for-- I don't hate you." Draco took a step closer to him and stared into his eyes. "You really do believe all of this, don't you?"

"Yes." Harry's voice had dropped to a whisper. "I'd like a chance to convince you."

Draco took two more steps forward, and they were standing face-to-face. "To convince me to let you into my trousers?" Harry blushed, and Draco couldn't help smirking. "You won't have to work very hard at that, I can assure you."

"Even though you think I'm insane?"

"Insane people can still fuck, can't they?"

"I suppose."

They stared at each other in the dim light, and Draco had to bite back the urge to kiss Harry. "Can you provide a shred of proof of all this? Something besides fanciful stories to help me believe this could be true?"

"The magic isn't proof enough?"

"I need something more tangible."

Harry nodded. "There's a place I can take you. I'm not sure if it will convince you, but it's worth a shot."

"When can we go?"

"Now," Harry said, and held out his arm. When Draco stared at it blankly, he smiled. "Take my arm and hold on tight. Trust me."

"That's the problem, isn't it?" Draco muttered, but he took Harry's arm. A moment later he felt the strangest sensation, like he was being squeezed by something, but it wasn't uncomfortable. It was oddly familiar, in fact, like something he'd dreamed about.

And then they were standing inside what seemed to be an empty pub. Dust had settled on the bar and on the tables, thick enough to hide their finish, and glasses of ale sat half-drunk and moldy, as if the patrons had all got up and left at once, never to return. Yet, flames flickered in lanterns hanging from the walls. Draco wondered why the person who filled them didn't bother to clean the place up a bit.

"Where are we?" he asked, moving to look out of one of the dingy windows. The street outside was dark and damp, and there were people walking by. None of them cast as much as a glance toward the pub window.

"London."

"London! That's a hundred miles!"

"Probably more."

Draco turned to face him. "You've teleported this far to show me an old empty pub?"

"Not exactly." Harry gestured toward the back of the pub. They walked through an archway, by a staircase, and out into a small courtyard. The brick wall at the back had a large hole in it that looked to have been knocked out by force, and another street could be seen beyond it.

They climbed through the hole into what seemed like a ghost town. The little winding street was lined with shops, but all of them were empty. There was no one on the street, no one anywhere. It was as if everyone had simply forgotten this place existed, all at once. Draco swallowed.

"This is called Diagon Alley," Harry said, gesturing down the cobblestone street. This was the commercial center of our world, where witches and wizards for hundreds of miles would come to do their shopping."

It was unlike anything Draco had ever seen, and yet… Perhaps he'd dreamed about it. "And now?"

Harry sighed. "Now it remains. There are dozens of places like this around Britain, all of them empty. Everyone's forgotten."

"Everyone? There are more Survivors?"

Harry nodded. "Not everyone was at Hogwarts that day. But all at the same moment, witches and wizards everywhere simply… forgot."

"What happened to them?"

"I don't know. Some of them might be in hospital, others might be wandering about the streets. I've found news reports about a strange spike in amnesia cases eight months ago, all over the country."

Draco thought about the homeless man outside of Rosemary's window. "How many Survivors were there?"

"Thousands," Harry replied. "More than I'll ever be able to find."

They continued down the street, stopping in front of every shop. Harry explained what one could buy there while Draco pressed his nose against the window tried to take it all in. There were bookshops, shops that carried the strangest clothing he'd ever seen, shops full of empty animal cages, and shops with unidentifiable substances displayed in the windows. There was a shop devoted entirely to broomsticks, and Draco found it difficult to pull himself away from the sight.

"I miss flying," Harry said, staring wistfully at the window display.

"What, on one of those?" Draco asked, incredulous.

Harry laughed. "You loved it too. You were damn competitive."

They kept walking, and then Harry stopped in front of one that looked a bit ominous. The weathered sign above the door declared it _Ollivander's: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC_.

"We're going in this one," Harry said, and turned the doorknob. The door opened with a creak, and they walked into a shop that seemed to be full of shelves lined with boxes, stretching all the way to the ceiling.

Harry led Draco back through the shelves and plucked a box from one. He handed it to Draco with a smile. "Go on."

"It's not going to bite me, is it?" Draco asked, prying the lid off warily. Inside lay a wooden stick about a foot long, polished smooth.

"It's a wand," Harry whispered, looking over Draco's shoulder. "We all had them. I don't know what yours was made from, but I'll wager we can find you a good replacement."

Draco reached into the box and pulled out the wand. It felt good in his fingers, soothing and solid. "Not this one," he said, putting it back. "I don't like the color."

Harry snorted, but pulled down another box. "Try this one, then."

They went through so many boxes that Draco lost count, but Harry didn't seem to mind. Draco didn't know why he was being so picky -- after all, they were just polished bits of wood. But each time he picked up a wand, he had the strangest feeling that it wasn't quite right.

After what could have been an hour, he opened a box and smiled. The wand inside appealed to him instantly, and it slid into his hand as if made for it. He held it up and waved it in the air, and a shower of green sparks erupted from the tip, spilling onto the floor around them.

"Very good," Harry said, looking relieved. "That's the one."

Draco couldn't take his eyes off it. "How do I use it?"

"I was hoping you might remember something," Harry said.

Draco wrenched his gaze away from the wand. "I'm going to have to start all over, aren't I? Learn it all again?"

Harry smiled. "So you believe me, do you?"

Draco wasn't sure when it had happened exactly, but he did. It all seemed to make sense somehow. Or perhaps he was finally going mad. In either case, he found he didn't mind. "It sure as hell beats my current reality, so why not?"

"Indeed. What else would you like to see, then?"

"Don't we need to find a wand for you?"

Harry reached under his shirt and pulled another wand out. "I came here as soon as they released me from hospital. I'd started to wonder if I really was crazy, but then I came back here and found it all empty. That was when I first realized I was the only one left. But I got another wand, and I could still do magic, so I clung to the hope that I could find someone else, and show them all of this. Help them learn it all again."

Draco looked back at his wand, overwhelmed. There was a whole world Draco had once been a part of, had grown up in, and it was gone. All of the empty shops, the dusty counters and decay, all had been bustling with people less than a year ago. And Harry was the only one left who remembered what it had been like.

"Thank you for showing me this."

Harry smiled. "I'll clean up a bit." He waved his wand and all of the discarded wands folded back into their boxes, and each box flew back to its previous position on the shelves.

"Amazing," Draco said, shaking his head. "But somehow… not."

Harry laughed. "So it'll take a bit more to impress you now, will it?"

"Well, all I can do is provide some pathetically dim light," Draco said, waving his wand again to make the sparks.

"It's a good start," Harry said, and made some sparks of his own, red and gold. They kept shooting sparks for several minutes, and Draco found himself grinning for what felt like the first time in months. He showered Harry with sparks, and Harry fired back, until they collapsed against the countertop in laughter.

They stared at each other, neither quite sure what to say. Harry reached up to brush his shaggy hair out of his eyes, and Draco caught a glimpse of a mark on his forehead, a scar he hadn't noticed before.

"What?" Harry asked as Draco pushed off the counter and stood before him, brushing his hair back to look again. "Oh, my scar -- do you remember it?"

"I don't know," Draco replied. And he didn't know, but it stirred something in his mind, almost like a dream. He let go of Harry's hair and started to step back, but Harry caught his hand. His eyes were dark and intense, and Draco froze.

Was this a stupid idea? Probably -- but it had been a long time since he'd been touched by anyone who wasn't a doctor. In fact, he didn't even know if he'd ever had sex before. He must have done -- he was at least twenty years old, according to the doctors. But maybe he wouldn't remember what to do, and Harry would think him a complete idiot. And of course, he was going to work closely with Harry now, and this would complicate things significantly. After everything he'd been through, and everything he'd learned in the last week, would this be a mistake?

Why the hell was he so nervous? He never second-guessed himself like this.

"I can practically see the wheels spinning," Harry whispered, and tugged him closer. "Are you worried ab--"

And then Draco made up his mind: he leaned forward to kiss Harry, cutting him off. Harry made a sound of surprise, and Draco was surprised to find him trembling. But his lips were soft and they parted under Draco's with no resistance.

This was definitely familiar -- he must have done a lot of kissing in the past, because he seemed to be quite good at it. Harry was not as good a kisser, but was apparently happy to let Draco take charge, which Draco liked. Draco did a thing with his tongue that he hadn't even known he knew how to do, and Harry made a small noise of pleasure that Draco felt start a chain reaction through his insides.

 _Oh, yes._ What had he been worried about?

He pulled Harry closer with a hand around the back of his neck, and he felt Harry's hands touch his sides awkwardly, as if he wasn't quite sure what to do with them.

"Is this okay?" Draco whispered against his lips.

Harry's eyes were closed, and he was still trembling. "Yes. I mean… if it's okay with you."

Draco pressed his growing erection against Harry's hip and traced the curve of his lower lip with his tongue. "What do you think?"

"Right," Harry said, swallowing. "Okay."

Draco kissed him again and pressed him back against the counter. His hands found their way inside Harry's shirt to touch warm skin, and Harry jumped.

"Your hands are cold."

Draco pressed his palms flat on Harry's chest and smirked. "Oh. Sorry."

Harry laughed and tried to wiggle away, and ended up sitting on the dusty countertop, exactly where Draco wanted him. He closed his eyes when Draco pushed his shirt up and began planting kisses on his stomach, and twined his fingers in Draco's hair when his mouth moved lower.

Ten minutes ago, Draco couldn't have said if he'd ever given a blow job before, but now he was sure that he was bloody brilliant at sucking cock. He managed to unfasten Harry's jeans with one hand and tugged them down enough to free his erection. The sight of it made his mouth water.

Oh yes -- this was something he must have loved to do. He had Harry's cock in his mouth a moment later, so fast that it seemed it caught Harry by surprise. Harry gasped above him and his cock got even harder, something that sent a little tingle straight to Draco's balls.

It was as if he had some strange instinct for cocksucking, like he knew exactly what to do and when to do it. Harry was leaning back and hanging on to the edge of the counter now, gasping in time to the strokes of Draco's tongue, his knees splayed and his bare arse smearing the dust on the counter. Draco sucked his cock in as far as he could, and then even farther than he'd thought possible, and Harry howled and arched his hips up, and came.

For a split second, Draco worried he might choke -- but he pulled back without even thinking about it, and sucked the head hard while Harry finished coming. He'd even swallowed before he quite knew what had happened. Damn -- he was _good_ at this.

"Fuck," Harry panted as Draco stood and wiped his mouth.

Draco grinned. "Want to?"

Harry's cheeks got even pinker. "I… uh…"

"I was joking," Draco said, though he wasn't. Clearly he'd have to give Harry some time to think about that one.

Harry slid off the counter and fastened his jeans, and without saying another word pulled Draco close and cupped his erection through his trousers.

"Yeah, that'll do," Draco said, his voice rising comically. "Oh god."

Harry's hand wormed its way into his trousers and stroked him fast and hard, and it was so intense that Draco could barely stay on his feet. Harry kissed him, and it was less than a minute before Draco came, moaning into Harry's mouth and collapsing against him.

So he'd have to work on lasting a bit longer. Of course, it had been a while since he'd had sex with someone other than himself.

Harry pulled his sticky hand out, and then picked up his wand and waved it. There was a strange tingle on Draco's nether-regions, and he grabbed his dick in alarm.

"Sorry," Harry said, holding his hands up. "Cleaning spell. I should have warned you. I… funny, I forgot for a moment that you don't remember."

"Right," Draco said, not quite ready to let go. "Wait, don't remember? Have we done this before?"

Harry stared at him for a moment, and then nodded. "Once. But I think we both thought it was a mistake at the time. We never talked about it, but…" He shrugged.

"Why didn't you say anything before?"

"What was I to say? It was a one-off thing, a couple of years ago."

Draco smirked. "So is that why you came to me first, then?"

"No," Harry retorted, but his cheeks were pink. "Well, maybe it had something to do with it. I mean, if you didn't remember how much you hated me, I thought you might… like me."

Draco's smirk faded into a smile. "I do like you. Even when I thought you were insane, I thought you were hot."

"Heh. Thanks."

They stood awkwardly for a moment, neither of them speaking.

"So what happens now?" Draco asked at last.

Harry shrugged. "Well, if you want to come back to mine, it's not far."

"No, I mean with all this." Draco picked up his new magic wand and waved it toward a spindly chair in the corner, which promptly jumped a foot into the air. It landed with a loud clatter and one of its wooden clawed feet broke off. "Shit."

"Teach you some simple spells, I think," Harry said, eying the chair somewhat warily. "We used to buy all of our school books at a shop down the street. I suppose you can start with the grade one spells, and we'll go from there. Charms, potions, transfiguration, defensive spells… We'll skip the other stuff for now. Not very useful anyway."

"Grade one," Draco repeated. He would be starting all over, re-learning things he'd probably learned as a small child, the most basic of spells. Things he'd taken years to learn, the sum knowledge of most of his life.

The enormity of it hit him in the gut, and he felt his knees start to shake. He dropped his wand, and sank to the floor, blinking back hot tears that had come from nowhere.

He'd had a life before. He'd had parents who loved him, and he'd known things, and he'd probably been happy, something he hadn't been since he'd woken up in hospital eight months ago, unable even to remember his own name.

And he'd helped the man who did it to him. He'd _willingly_ helped to ruin his own life, and the lives of all the Survivors. He knew himself well enough to know he was generally a selfish prick -- so why had he gone along with it? What had he got out of it?

"I'll help you," Harry said, his voice barely more than a whisper.

"Why?" Draco replied, unable to look up at him. "I don't deserve it."

"You do. We all do."

Harry's hand appeared in front of Draco's face, extended. Draco stared at it for a moment before taking it, allowing Harry to pull him to his feet.

"We'll start tomorrow, whenever you can get off work."

Draco looked at him. "Can we start now?"

"Now?"

"I don't think I want to be alone just yet. If you don't mind."

Harry smiled and squeezed his hand. "Come with me."

  
**.:. .:. .:.**   


Draco stretched and rolled over, and only opened his eyes when he realized the bed was empty. He squinted his eyes open and looked around the room. "Harry?"

"Making breakfast," was the reply.

Draco pushed himself to his feet and scratched his bare stomach, and then reached for the wand on the bedside table. A few quick _accio_ s later, his boxers and a t-shirt were in his hands, and he dressed.

He stumbled into the kitchen to find Harry sitting on the sofa with his feet propped up on a table, reading the _Times_. "I never thought I'd say it, but I really miss the _Daily Prophet_ ," he said, shaking his head.

The concept of a magical newspaper was still a bit strange to Draco, but they'd found a weathered copy in a rubbish bin the week before. Draco hadn't put it down for six hours, and had read every word in it. "I thought you were cooking breakfast."

Without taking his eyes off the paper, Harry pointed his wand over his shoulder, and slices of bread popped out of the toaster and flew to a waiting empty plate on the table. A teapot began to steam, and butter and jam rattled their way out of the refrigerator to come to a skidding stop next to the toast.

Draco grinned. "You've got to show me how to do that."

"I will," Harry said, folding the paper and setting it aside. "You've made a lot of progress in only two weeks. Better than I even expected."

"I have a feeling you always underestimated me."

"I didn't, you know."

They settled at the table to eat, and Draco wished he didn't have to go to the book shop this morning. But they'd agreed the easiest way to bring the others in was to keep up the façade for now, and so they kept going to their menial jobs and to group therapy, even while they were squatting in this flat above a shop called Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, which Harry said Fred and his brother had owned. They spent their evenings studying magic and exploring Diagon Alley, and Draco had soaked up as much as he could, as fast as he could.

But somehow, it wasn't enough.

"I think we should approach Hermione soon," Draco said through a mouthful of toast. "She's skeptical, but she's a clever one. She'll learn quickly, and she'll be able to help teach the others when we bring them in."

"Is that a criticism of my teaching skills?"

"Oh, please. We need you to start finding those other Survivors just wandering around out there doing Merlin knows what, and to--"

"I know, I know" Harry said with a grin. "It'll be nice to have someone to talk you other than you, anyway."

"Well, _talking_ isn't what we do best, is it?"

Harry flicked his wand and a piece of toast hurtled toward Draco's head.

"Not fair!" he spat, throwing his hands up to knock it away. "I can't do that yet."

"It motivates you to learn, doesn't it?"

"You really are a crap teacher. Come on, let me talk to Hermione today. I'll tell her we've invited her and Percy to dinner, and you can aprate them here."

"Apparate."

"Whatever."

Harry took a deep breath and released it, and then looked up. "Are you sure you're ready to bring others in?"

Draco picked at his toast. "No. Part of me wants to hide away here and never go back out there again. But it's going to take decades to rebuild it all. We probably won't live long enough to see it happen, but the sooner we get started, the more of my old life I'll get back. I need that. I need to know where I came from and who I was, even if I won't like it."

Harry was quiet for a moment. "We won't get it back the way it was. I'm not even sure I want that." He looked up. "But this is a good start. It's more than I'd hoped for, actually."

Draco smiled. "Me too."

They stared at each other for a moment, and Draco felt a shiver of emotion, something he'd never felt before. He looked down into his tea cup.

"How about a quick spell lesson before you go to work?" Harry asked, twirling his wand between his fingers.

Draco looked up again, one eyebrow raised. "How about a quick shag?" Predictably, Harry blushed, and Draco grinned. He slid his chair away from the table and beckoned Harry to come closer.

Harry grinned back and stood. "You're insatiable."

"I don't hear you complaining."

Harry slid into his lap and kissed him. "Definitely not."

Draco let Harry kiss him, felt the weight of his body pressing down on him, and promptly forgot about work.

Finally, happily, he had something better to do.

  
**.:. .:. .:.**

FIN

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Оставь поля цвести](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3647913) by [Jewellery](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jewellery/pseuds/Jewellery)




End file.
